Nobody Knows How The Story Ends
by Nadin4400
Summary: No one told Steve Trevor that the 21st century would be so confusing, and that having more time would leave him wondering if he ever deserved it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note** : This was meant to be a drabble but it got out of control, so I'm leaving it here as a separate story. Also - angst is the best!

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He didn't belong.

The thought felt like a sucker punch that left Steve breathless, knocking all wind out of him.

Gotham was dark and grimy and hopeless, and from what little of it he'd seen since Barry – the Flash, the fastest man alive! – brought him here was less than impressive. It made him feel odd in his own skin, leaving him conflicted. The future was far from the utopia he half-heartedly hoped it would turn into, but even so, Steve couldn't help but feel out of place – in the city, in the world, in this time. So far behind he didn't know if he'd ever be able to catch up. It beat being dead, he could admit that much, but he still couldn't shake off the feeling of restlessness running along his skin like jolts of electric current. Like they were going to see what a fraud he was – that Diana would see that – and send him back where he truly belonged. Where his body was nothing but ashes and dust.

Sometimes, Steve wished they'd do it already, just to get it over with.

He didn't understand half of the things they were talking about, could barely stand the condescending looks and Bruce Wayne's smugness over his gadgets that, to Steve, looked like toys, if only because he couldn't for the life of him figure out how could someone – anyone – make them real. The phones that carried all the information known to humankind could fit in a pocket, the jets hundreds of times faster than any plane he'd ever flown, the cars that could be operated without a driver. Hell, even the fridge in this goddamned place was smarter than all the people from Steve's time, combined. It certainly was smarter than him, and it seemed to hate him, too. Why else would it spew ice cubes at him otherwise, even though it was pretty tame around everyone else?

"You gotta find an approach to Rosie," Barry told Steve the other day, fondly patting the rumbling monster on the side wall like it was a gigantic pet of some kind. Apparently, it had a name, too. Go figure.

At the time, thought, he didn't have it in him to contemplate that particular discover, what with being too busy ignoring Bruce's smirk – the man just had to walk in at this exact moment.

Steve wasn't sure what made his judgement so much worse than everyone else's, and to be completely honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to. It wasn't like he didn't know that he didn't deserve to be staying in Wayne's home – out of some charity, no less. Steve never asked for it, but Diana insisted because it was easier. Every day, he was more and more tempted to leave. It wasn't his fault. None on this was. He didn't ask for it – even though he was grateful beyond measure for the rescue. But even so, Steve hated being under all this scrutiny, like he was a lab rat that couldn't figure out the way out of the maze.

He was trying, for crying out loud.

Arthur was fun, his own relationship with the modern technology that the Wayne's mansion was stuffed with not much better than Steve's, and Barry was more than eager to show Steve the ropes, even though he still didn't quite figure out how cat videos and something called Angry Birds could help him fit in, but he wasn't the one to argue. Alfred was a decent company, and even though Vic was barely ever in a mood for any sort of conversation, he wasn't making Steve feel like he was a complete freak.

Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, made it very clear he didn't want Steve there – not so much in his home as in this century, and he was subtle enough about it not to make it too obvious, which somehow made Steve feel even more like shit.

And then there was Diana…

Steve tossed the tv remote he was twiddling with on the couch and stood up, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. Wherever everyone was, they didn't bother to enlighten him or tell him when they were coming back, the silence pressing down in on him like a cement block.

He wondered how long it would be before Diana got bored with trying to drag him into the future, how long it would be before she realized that he was holding her back. And it killed him a little to think of the moment when she'd figure out that he was probably too much burden for her to even bother. She meant too much for this world, her life too big compared with his small existence.

Steve wandered absently to the kitchen. Picked up an apple from the bowl sitting on the counter and sat it back, his stomach churning - so much so that he didn't even have it in him to turn around when the staccato of footsteps broke the silence around him, the delicate scent of her perfume preceding her appearance in the room.

Diana slid toward him, her hand landing on the small of his back.

"Sorry I'm late," she brushed a kiss to Steve's cheek. "Barry decided that it would be fun to…"

She trailed off and took him in properly when he barely responded to her touch, unable to even meet her gaze.

"Steve?"

He was sort of curious about Barry's shenanigans, to a degree. Yet, the weight pressing on his chest was too much to bear and a few hours of being trapped in the hell of his own mind did nothing to lift it.

Steve pulled away from her, ran his fingers along the surface of the countertop and then rubbed his jaw with his hand, his gaze darting around the kitchen full of devices that made him feel like they were smarter than he could ever be. Like he was five centuries behind on everything that was nothing but mere convenience for everyone else.

"How long are we gonna do it?" He asked in a hollow voice.

"Stay here?" Diana inquired, confused. "I know this hasn't been entertaining, but I'm going back to Paris next week. You will come with me, yes?"

Steve drummed his fingers against the countertop, his throat tight. "No, I mean why are you doing this? Why do you bother with me? With us?"

He heard her inhale sharply, his senses tunneling, zeroing in on the two of them and nothing else.

"Steve, I don't understand."

Her voice was small, confused, and he hated himself for doing this to her.

"Is there some kind of expiration date to this experiment?" It was an awful thing to say but he couldn't seem to stop now, the bitter aftertaste of the past few weeks making him want to wash his mouth with something, preferably something vintage. "What's gonna happen if I don't learn how to use the intranet in the next month?"

"The internet," she corrected automatically, and grimaced when Steve flinched.

"My point exactly." He shook his head and stared straight ahead, at the damned fridge, no less.

Diana walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from the side. She rested her chin on his shoulder and pressed her forehead to his temple. He could feel her breath on his cheek and the brush of her eyelashes against his skin as her eyes dropped shut.

"Because I love you," she whispered after a few moments when he rested his hands on her arm, unable to resist the urge to touch her that seemed to never go away. Like she could disappear. "That's why."

"You can do better," he said softly.

"I don't want to do better," Diana murmured. "You wanted to have more time. We have it now, all the time in the world."

Steve exalted slowly, feeling his body deflate as he did so. "It's like I've run out of it before we even started," he turned to look at her, their faces so close he could see a faint dusting of freckles over her nose, his heart aching with missing her even when she was right here in front of him. "This is too much sometimes. I don't even know where to start."

She ran her fingers through his hair, her face softening, a small, uncertain smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I will never not want you," she promised, studying him for a long moment. "It must be confusing, I know. But it doesn't mean…" She leaned in and kissed him lightly. "It doesn't change anything. I don't need any of this, I don't need computers or a microwave that can talk to me. But I need you, Steve, and I have spent a hundred years missing you." Her thumb ran over his cheekbone. "Do you think I would give up on you now?"

Steve allowed himself to smile back, finally facing her and cupping her cheek with his palm. "Well, that's good news, I guess." He kissed her on the forehead, feeling the tension leave his body, the tightness in his chest easing at last. "I only have one question."

Diana laughed quietly, the sound of it sending a shiver down his body. A very good one.

"Anything."

Steve's brows furrowed as he looked around the kitchen past her shoulder. "Which one is a microwave?"

 **To be continued...**

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A/N: I hope this was fun, in a painful way. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Pretty sure I gave up on linear writing xD Apologies!

Unrelated - I'm such an autumn person I could never get tired of writing all things autumn 333

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"Don't look," Diana warned him for the umpteenth time.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to," Steve responded, moving cautiously forward.

With her hands clasped over his eyes, they walked slowly from her car and toward the entrance of the Louver, tripping over each other feet because she insisted he had to wait until they were there. A surprise. Where there was a bit of a mystery to him. He'd been to the Louvre before. In fact, he'd been there only weeks before he was plucked out of his time and shoved unceremoniously into hers, his memory of it pretty fresh, and from the parking spot, the museum didn't look much different from what he remembered it to be.

There was no fighting her, though, and so he smiled and shut his eyes as they moved in that weird half-dance, the touch of her hands making his skin prickle in the way that made him wish she'd never stop.

"No cheating," Diana told him, pulling her hands away.

"I promise," he chuckled as she dug into her purse. The beeping of the security control buttons followed, and then a swipe of her access card.

It was chilly, the late October wind chasing dry leaves along the pathways and snaking shamelessly under his coat, making him shiver against his will.

At last, Steve felt her hand in his as she tugged him forward and into the building, the door closing behind them with a soft click, cutting off the scent of hot coffee and cocoa from the café across the street and the traffic noise that were replaced with the peculiar smell of furniture polish and paint and dust that all museums and libraries seemed to have in common, their footsteps echoing in wide corridors and under high ceilings.

Steve squeezed her hand.

"Please tell me we're not breaking any laws," he asked, mock-serious.

"I work here," Diana pointed out. He could hear her smile, his mind helpfully offering him the image of her curved lips.

"So it's not breaking and entering, huh?" He started, trying to ignore the nervous restlessness churning in his stomach.

"You really need to expand your interests beyond _CSI_ ," she laughed, stopping abruptly and making him ram into her side. She pulled him closer when he stepped back on instinct, and Steve breathed in the smell of oil paintings around them and her perfume that followed Diana like a floral cloud. "Okay, look," she whispered, her hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes.

Steve Trevor was not a fan of surprises, per se. If nothing else, his life as a spy taught him to be aware and prepared at any given moment, and any sort of unexpectedness was deemed as a threat, particularly in this time, in this world that was so different from his own it seemed to be against Steve from the get go, everything from the phones to elevators that recognized people's voices rebelling against the person who was confused by the fact of their own existence.

At times, he thought they could feel his fear.

But not now.

Not _this_.

The pyramids must have been a new addition, he thought absently as he gaze traveled over the massive form towering above the ceiling and its inverted counterpart the tip of which was nearly touching the marble floor. It was early still, the space around them empty and quiet, and the morning sun was shining through hundreds of glass panes, glinting on the metal frames and breaking into infinite spectrum that danced as tiny rainbows at their feet.

"Wow," he whispered, unable to look away, almost scared to breathe for fear of breaking this spell.

Beside him, Diana giggled, her fingers flexing around his, still clasped over his hand. "You like it?"

He was watching the light, but her eyes were on him, following the slope of his forehead and the line of his nose, skimming over his defined cheekbones and pausing on his lips parted on awe.

Steve turned to her slowly, his expression the one of pure fascination.

"When did they do it?" He asked, his gaze darting between the glass and her face, and the affection pooling in her eyes all but rendered him breathless.

"About 20 or 30 years ago, give or take," she responded absently. "I thought you might find it interesting."

He kissed her then, under the rain of light.

xoox

Paris was… Paris.

Different and yet the same.

Sure, the storefronts had changed over the past hundred years and so did the crowds, the streets now filled with the men in sharp business suits and women in skirts so short that Steve's ears turned bright red every time he passed one, but the _Arc de Triomphe was as dignified as ever, looming over_ the Champs-Élysées and he wasn't surprised to have remembered enough French to easily eavesdrop on the never-ending chatter of the passers-by.

 _It was no less confusing still, and the enormity of what had happened to him was giving Steve vertigo._

 _He loved the effortlessness of it, though, the lightness of the place compared to the heavy grimness of Gotham, and the fact that no one cared about him. He was another stranger, a tourist, if you please, and an American, at that – the least favourite type around here, it seemed. It made Steve feel small. Invisible. He loved it. After the constant scrutiny in Bruce Wayne's home – like he was a time bomb that was about to go off – he felt free like never before._

 _Diana's apartment in the center of Paris, only a few blocks away from the Louvre was an expansive penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and soft carpets. It lacked personality though, and he wanted to ask why. She had books and clothes, a few knick-knacks sitting on the shelves, but it reminded him of a hotel room, a luxurious one but not truly hers._

"Now, I know it's not Bruce's mansion…" She started after giving him a tour around the living room, bedroom and her study that took all of 5 minutes and ended in the kitchen.

He cut her off with an arm around her waist and his mouth on hers, her smile against his lips.

It was odd because she was the same and yet not, and he tried to piece together the image of her as he'd known her with the person she'd turned into after a century and god only knew what she had to go through in that time, and sometimes the image kept slipping away from him, the picture slightly distorted. They were still a work in progress, he decided. Maybe would be for as long as they lived, and it was okay.

"I love it," Steve murmured, pecking her on the lips again and tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

There was nervous energy to her, humming from her body and into his. On the plane _("Oh god, they have TV here? HERE?!" She laughed when he said that. "It's good to know you can be so easily distracted."_ ) she kept twisting a paper napkin, folding and refolding it in her lap as she stared out the small window at the endless field of clouds on the other side until Steve reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

He asked her about this later, when he caught her studying him while he attempted to make friends with a coffee-maker one morning, pushing the buttons but getting only angry beeps in return.

"Is this all real?" She asked back.

"Me?" He smiled and offered her a small shrug. "For as long as you want it to be."

Being with her here, not having to share her with anyone, not even with Barry whom Steve started to feel certain affection for and who had a very weird understanding of personal boundaries, made him feel like he could finally breathe easier. It was a relief not to have to tiptoe around anyone anymore, for however long it would last.

He was raging success at the museum, too. Diana's assistant, a woman in her late 40's that reminded Steve of Etta, couldn't stop babbling on and on about Madame Prince and joyeus and très radieux, nodding with a knowing smile every time Steve stepped through the door, his polished accent charming the hell out of everyone in a two-floor radius, much to Diana's amusement. He was not used to it, not used to being so open about the relationship that in his time would get him into trouble. (Come to think of it, it still could, even now, if only with Diana's mother, and the thought was something he didn't like to dwell on. "Let's skip the family dinners," he muttered once, his face buried in his hands, and she burst out laughing.)

He loved it, though, loved every goddamned moment of it.

"Who is distracting now?" Diana asked him jokingly one night when he came over to pick her up after work, leaving her entire department in frenzy over his impeccable French and clever jokes, and they strolled toward the Seine, shoulders hunched against the wind and feet shuffling through the carpet of dry leaves.

Steve stopped under the streetlight and pulled her to him by the ends of her scarf, their faces almost touching and his fingers pushing through her hair, their breaths puffing out in small clouds between them.

"Still you."

xoox

It was the phone call that pulled him out of deep sleep once night, and not even the sound of it but the sudden absence of warmth near him when Diana slipped from under the covers to pick it.

Steve rolled onto his back, blinking in the dark, listening to her voice coming from behind the closed door leading to the living room – nothing but a mutter that was too soft for him to make out what she was saying.

After a few minutes, he kicked off the covers and padded across the room, opening the door just as she hung up, the screen of her phone going black.

"Bruce?" Steve asked. Wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, arms crossed over his chest and his shoulder propped against the doorframe, he hoped he didn't sound like a petty moron that he was as far as Bruce Wayne was concerned.

It was an unnecessary question – there was no one else who could disregard the time difference the way this man did.

Still, Diana nodded and put her phone on the coffee table before walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into the stubble on his cheek, Steve's heart responded in kind, springing into a race against his ribs as he pulled her to him, his old shirt that she was wearing soft to his bare skin.

"Do you have to go?" He asked softly.

"No," she shook her head. "Not this time."

"Don't do it on my account. I don't want to hold you back."

"You're not," she promised sleepily, her fingers playing absently with the hair at the nape of his neck. "They'll manage." She drew back to find his gaze with hers, her finger tracing the line of is jaw. "This is like a dream," she whispered with a small, wondrous smile. "I'm not ready for it to end yet. The world can wait."

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 **A/N:** Well hope that was fun! let me know what you think :)


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